Alternate End of Chapter 23
by MildlyInsane
Summary: Not very exciting, but this was an English assignment. You don't have to read it. Rated T for a few swear words...


The Catcher in the Rye (This was an assignment in my english class.� It completely sucks, and I am just testing to see if I am able to upload stories before I actually write one. )� These characters do not belong to me... so on and such like...

02-25-2008 Alternate End of Chapter 23

_". . . Phoebe, have you been smoking a cigarette in here? Tell me the truth, please, young lady."_

_"What?" old Phoebe said._

_"You heard me."_

_"I just lit one for one second. I just took one puff. Then I threw it out the window."_

_"Why, may I ask?"_

_"I couldn't sleep."_

"Young lady, I think we need to talk about this. I cannot very well have you start smoking."

"It's alright, really," I heard old Phoebe say, "I didn't like it. I promise I won't do it again."

"You know you're going to have to be punished, Phoebe," I heard my mother say, "You are far too young to be smoking."

It killed me to hear old Phoebe taking the blame for me so I wouldn't get found out. It really did. I didn't want to let old Phobe get in trouble, and besides, I had a plan to lie my own way out of trouble. I'm a terrific liar, like I already told you.

So I opened the closet door and damn near ran the door right into my mother, who was standing right in front of it.

"Holden!" she yelled out, surprised to see me, "What are you doing here so soon, might I ask? I thought you would be a few more days yet. Don't you have classes?"

Old Phoebe looked really nervous at me. "I was smoking, not Phoebe. Phoebe didn't want you to know I was here, because I was going to surprise you."

"Very well, but how are you here so soon?" she asked again. She was being really persistant. She really was.

"I ended the semester early," I started to say, "I mean, I asked to take the final exams early so I could come home sooner. And my teachers, they all let me do it and all."

"Your father and I recieved a call from Mr. Spencer, Holden," my mother said. It figured that she already knew why I was here so early, and she tricked me into getting caught in a lie. If she already knew that I failed, it sure was dirty of her to trick me into lying to her. But before I admitted defeat I decided to try one last thing.

"Really? What did he say?" I asked her, "You know, he's sick with grippe right now; I had a talk with him, and he was saying all sorts of crazy stuff."

"Holden, we know that you flunked out of Pencey," my mother said, "and we need to have a talk with you, in the front room. Come along." 

I followed her into the front room, but I didn't really want to talk about this stuff right now. "Can't it wait until the morning?" I asked her, trying to get a chance to sneak back out of the house. Maybe if I left for a while, they wouldn't be so mad at me when I finally came back. I didn't want to listen to her lecture me all night; I really didn't. I already knew why I flunked out of Pencey. I flunked out because I never applied myself and all that junk. And I didn't really feel like listening to her tell me, all over again, the same stuff I already knew.

But even though I didn't want her to, she kept right on talking, "We send you to the best schools, Holden. The least you could do is try to pass your classes," her voice was kind of softer than normal, like she might be about to cry or something. I really didn't want my mother to cry. When you make your own mother cry, it makes you feel really awkward, and like a real crumby sort of guy.

"I know you are a very intelligent young man, Holden; you just need to apply your intelligence. Success isn't just handed to you. Please just try and work harder so you can be accepted into college when the time comes."

She sure was making me feel crumby. I already knew that I could do good at school if I just tried. I just didn't want to put all of the work into school, when I didn't really want to go to college anyway. "I'll work harder at the next school then," I said.

"I certainly hope you do, Holden; there are only so many schools, and you've already been through too many of them."

I hoped that maybe I could get through this old converstation before my father came in and started his lecturing too, but I was unlucky when it came to that.

"Son," my father started talking, "Don't you want to go to college?"

I didn't want to go to college. I really didn't. But with my mother almost crying over it, and my dad looking like he was waiting for me to say yes and all, I just told them what they wanted to hear.

"Sure I do," I told them, "and I'm gonna do a lot better at the next school. Now I'm really tired, so can we just talk about this in the morning?" Even though I was kind of just trying to get out of talking with them, I wasn't really lying. I really was beat from not sleeping enough lately. I could tell that my mother was tired too.

"Alright," my father said, "Just go to sleep, but we will be talking about this first thing in the morning, young man."

"Good night then," I told them, and walked back to old Phoebe's room.

When I opened the door and turned on the light, she was sitting up in bed. I could tell that she had been listening to the whole conversation.

"I've got to get out of here for a while," I told her, walking toward her window.

"Why did you come out and give yourself up?" she asked me, "I would have taken the blame for the cigarette. It wouldn't have been that bad."

"I can't let you get in trouble for me, Phoebe. You know that." I told her, "Now I'm going to be leaving for a few more days, and I'm almost out of dough. Do you have any I can borrow?"

I really didn't want to take any of old Phoebe's dough, but I really didn't have a lot left. I spent it all pretty quick with the hotels and the nuns and all. You never notice how much dough you are spending until you look down and realize you don't have any left.

Old Phoebe had some dough saved for Christmas, but I wouldn't take it. I had already almost gotten her in trouble because I was smoking. I couldn't take her Christmas dough. 

"You have to take it, Holden," she said to me, "You don't have any left. What are you going to do if you don't take it?"

"I'll just ask Mr. Antolini if I can borrow some dough from him," I told her. Mr. Antolini was a real nice guy, like I already told you. "I'm sure he'll lend me some dough."

"I guess so," old Phoebe said, "when are you coming back?"

"I'll come back soon, Phoeb. Don't you worry about that," I told her.

"You'll be back in time to see me in the play, right?"

"Of course I will."

Boy old Phoebe was a real cool kid. You know how sometimes you go to plays and stuff just because you feel like you have to, but you don't honestly want to? Well, it wasn't like that with old Phoebe. I _wanted_ to see her in her play. I really did.

"Why are you leaving, Holden?" she asked, "Daddy and mother already know you failed out of Pencey; what is the point of leaving now?"

"If I go for a while, they'll miss me and be worried about me and all that junk. Then, when I come back, they'll forget to be angry."

"May I come with you?" she asked.

"Of course not!" I told her, "Besides, I'm coming back pretty soon and all, and you have school and junk that you need to do."

"You had school too," she said.

"Come on, Phoeb," I told her, "You know I cannot let you come with me. Mother and Father would be so mad if I did." It is one thing to run off by yourself, to get your parents nice and worried, but to run off with your little ten-year old sister is real bad news. When you came back, your parents wouldn't have been worried about you. They'd be real mad that you took your sister with you and didn't tell them first.

"I really do have to go though, so I'll see you in a few days," I told her, as I climbed out the window. As I climbed down the fire exit stairs, I looked up to see old Phoebe waving her hand good-by at me. I had told her that I was going to come back in a few days, but the ranch in Colorado was sounding like a real good idea right about now. 

Source:

Salinger, J.D.. The Catcher in the Rye. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1951.


End file.
